I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (9 page)

I laugh, enjoying the moment of lightheartedness. I already feel more relaxed. “Kristy, thanks for covering for me this morning, I really appreciate it.”

She rests the back of her head on the couch. “No problem. I only needed five pots of coffee to stay awake," she replies, winking. “Oh, and by the way, the hottie from last night was in here looking for you,” Kristy announces with a beaming grin.

“He’s a fine piece of man. The angels must have dropped him from heaven themselves. Thank you, Jesus," Martello adds, mimicking the sign of the cross.

“He was here?” I ask, astounded. I can't process this quick enough to enjoy the schoolgirl excitement.

“Yep, and he's still super-hot. Drop-dead-gorge’ all the way,” Kristy says, inspecting her nails.     

A pang of jealousy hits me. Damn it to hell, I wasn’t here. “Did you get his name?” I question, gawking at Kristy with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning.

“No, he walked in and surveyed the place. He must have known you weren’t here, but he asked me anyway. I told him you would be in later; but when I asked him if he wanted to leave a message or his name, he was already out the door.”

“Bizarre." Why does he want to talk to me? “Well, on that note, I think I’m going to actually do some work. You two feel free to hang as long as you want. Kristy, clock out whenever, I know you’re beyond tired.”

“I’m good for now, but as soon as I hit my wall, I’m outta here.”

I walk to the counter, looking for anything to keep me busy. All the sugars, stirrers and milk containers are full, and the gurgling of fresh coffee brewing releases a strong aroma in the air. I head to the back, entering the quiet room. The hardwood floors glisten in the soft light and the overstuffed pillows are fluffed to the edges. There’s only one thing left to do, and that’s focusing on the marketing campaign. I refill my coffee, adding a shot of espresso and shut the door to my office. I drop on my oversized loveseat, pleading for a few minutes of concentration. Seizing my notebook, I draw any ideas that float through my brain. I’m in desperate need of a new sign above the entrance door. The current one is rickety and shedding its chocolate color, exposing the bright 1970s orange beneath it. My imagination takes over, guiding my hand across the paper, sketching letters and drawings. The new sign will be from the wood of a white oak tree for its natural creamy complexion. I scribble the words Déjà Brew inside my square using an elegant, cursive font. I envision the letters coated in sunburned-brown, to reflect the hints of a shimmer when light catches it. I sketch a few more options, alternating the sign’s shape from oval to rectangle, then back to square. The letters follow a dainty flow from one to the next, symbolic of the delicate grace and majesty of Savannah. I exhale, thankful to be making some headway. My eyelids slowly droop, oblivious to the extra amounts of caffeine I ingested.

I refuse to fall asleep, but sometimes, fatigue sucker-punches me. Without warning, I’m thrust into my nightmare world, surrounded by crimson on all sides. Familiarity beckons me like an old friend, pushing my legs across the claylike ground. I survey the bare surroundings. Nothing in sight - no mountains, people or trees. It’s just the flat ground and me. I tread softly with each step, scared of whom or what I might disturb. A large gust of wind whirls under my hair, throwing it every direction. I find the source, wishing I hadn’t looked up. A monstrous bat is flapping its wide, leathery wings directly above me. It extends its crooked legs, spreading its shiny claws wide. Long, piercing talons slide downward, only inches from my head as its beady, red eyes glimmer in eager anticipation. As my mind registers my dire predicament, I start to sprint. I hate running in dreams. No matter how fast I think I'm going, I barely move at all. The bat is right behind me, diving and swooping every few steps. It can easily snatch me whenever it likes, but prefers the thrill of the chase. I push harder, but my legs are burning at max capacity and my heart is ready to burst and fibrillate.

Up ahead, bright flashes of yellow and red flames erupt through an enormous fissure in the earth, lapping aggressively at the blackened sky. I slow down, quickly flipping through my options. Jumping across the wide crack is foolish, considering it’s broader than a three-lane highway. My other less than optimum choice is being mauled to death by an enraged bat beast. Burn to death? Or be torn to pieces? That’s a harder choice than one might think. I take a depth breath, resolving to take my chances in the flames. I take off in a sprint, pushing as hard as I can. I reach the ledge, launching with both feet and propelling my body into the air. My descent into the flames begins well before the halfway point. Scorching heat surrounds me, ruthlessly stealing oxygen from my lungs. My skin tightens as blisters the size of softballs erupt in bubbles over it. The invasive smell of singed hair assaults my nose and a thumping racket jumbles my thoughts. What is that noise? My conscious brain wakes up, begging me to open my eyes. I’m falling to my death and all I can do is watch. An intense pain slashes through my shoulders as nails impale my muscles to the bone. The sound of my own flesh shredding fills my ears. I scream, but the bat beast’s ear-piercing wail of victory swallows it up. Swiftly, I’m catapulted upward as I watch the flames shrinking beneath me. My skin throbs when gusts of air graze over it. Fear constricts my throat, choking the life out of me. Then, my eyes snap open. The brown paneled walls of my office stand before me as I gasp for air. I pop up, studying my environment in a daze. I breathe, allowing time to rationalize everything. That was too real. Rotating both my shoulders, I am relieved they are unharmed. A hurried knock echoes through the room again.

“Anna, are you in there?” I hear Janie asking from behind the door.

I stumble to the door, and twist the resistant handle, before realizing it's locked. That’s funny, I don't remember bolting it. I twist the silver metal horizontally, swinging the door wide open. “Hey, did you just get here?” I ask, feeling perplexed.

Janie strolls in. “Actually, I was here a few hours ago, but Kristy said you were busy,” she replies, sitting down in my office chair. “I helped her out front. We figured you needed the sleep. When I saw it was five o'clock, I thought you slept long enough. Plus, Kristy and Martello left and I didn’t want to be the only one out front.”

“It’s five o’clock?” I shriek. “I slept for four hours?” What the hell? It sure didn’t seem like four hours in hell. “One of you guys should have woken me.” I pick up my notebook that mysteriously found its way to the floor amidst my dreaming.

“Really, Anna, it’s all right,” Janie says, standing up. “I’m heading out front since I’m flying solo,” she says, exiting. “Come out and join me when you freshen up.”

In a wink, she’s gone. Out front, I find little to clean, thanks to Kristy and Janie. I should come in late more often! I dip under the counter, hoping to find some glasses or mugs I can organize. Neat stacks of porcelain are lined up like fatigue defense forces. I’m slacking today. Resting my elbows on the counter, I watch as Janie pours decaf coffee into Mrs. Elliot’s to-go cup. She’s an older woman, maybe in her mid-seventies. Her tiny head is outfitted with an abundance of white and silver tightly coiled curls, popping against her chestnut skin. I steal a glance at her outfit, impressed she’s able to slip on a long dress and stockings in this sweltering weather. She’s conservative, to say the least.

“Hi, Mrs. Elliot,” I announce a little louder than normal.

“Anna, dear, how are you today?” she inquires with a genuine smile. Not many of those left. 

“I’m good; how about you? Anything new?” I ask.

She nods sweetly, shuffling over to me. “Well, Marvin just bought a new grill for our back porch. It’s very nice, you know, but there are so many gadgets… I don’t know what half of them do. I told him we don’t need a grill with all of those thingies, but you know men. He’s wanted that grill for years,” she replies in a shaky voice. 

“Yes, Mrs. Elliot, I know what you mean.” She continues, steering the conversation into the lives of her five children and seven grandchildren. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe love can be divided evenly between that many individuals.

“Excuse me, Anna, sorry to interrupt…” Janie says.

“Oh, dear, no need to say sorry. I was just flapping my lips,” Mrs. Elliot replies.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“The phone’s for you… it’s a man. He says his name is Valen.”

The unusual name stops my thoughts dead in their tracks. I deliberate on whether or not to take it, curious to see who’s on the other line; but I don’t want to be tricked into a telemarketing call. “Can you take a message?”

Janie nods, placing the receiver to her ear, and walking away. It’s undoubtedly some sales person calling from oversees. Janie places the phone on the counter without writing anything down. Like I thought, a sales call. Mrs. Elliot continues to brag about her grandchildren and fill me in on who's doing what. I politely excuse myself, pathetically resorting to the
I have to get back to work
excuse. Janie is restocking the do-it yourself condiment station when I sneak up on her. “No message, huh? Stupid sales people,” I complain, shaking my head.

“No, it wasn’t a sales call. Someone was looking for you," she exhales. "I have to be honest, Anna, I’m a little freaked out. None of this feels right,” she shares, watching my reaction. “First, you’re stalked, and now a random man is calling here, looking for you. What next? Death notes? Or body part deliveries?”

“Jesus, Janie! Stop being dramatic, will you? That’s a tad farfetched, not to mention disgusting.” I’m not sure I should tell her there was a man in here earlier looking for me as well. I decide against it. She would freak out and there’s no point in making a bad situation worse. Janie isn’t a fan of change. She prefers structure and predictability, so my situation must be a treacherous curve ball in her otherwise straight as an arrow life.

“You can’t blame me for worrying. These red flags are warning you a dangerous situation is developing, but you’re acting nonchalant about everything, which makes me uneasy. Aren’t you the least bit nervous?”

I sigh. “Of course, I am, but what am I supposed to do? Hide in my house for the rest of my life? If anything’s going to happen, it will happen," I respond with a shrug. It’s the truth. I refuse to turn into a hermit. Janie begins fidgeting with a plastic lid, indicating her endless supply of anxiety.

"How about this... if I start receiving deliveries or notes, I promise to take this more seriously. Maybe hire a bodyguard or never leave my house,” I say, smiling, and doing my best to lighten the mood.

She doesn't find it humorous. “Anna, that’s not funny,” she says shoving her elbow into mine. “We need to get you a new cell phone too,” she frowns.

Janie walks to the counter, and plops her elbows on it before finally finding a dirty dish rag to fiddle with. This is going to be a long few weeks. A new wrench just dropped somewhere in my life's machinery. “I need to get one of those, don’t I? I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll grab one. Girls Scout's honor,” I respond, placing my hand over my heart.

Janie laughs. “That's not the Girl Scout's honor, but it's good enough for me. I’ll come and help you pick a good one, and maybe grab a bite to eat after?” Janie hesitates, trying to disguise her smothering presence with simple hanging-out tactics.

“There’s nothing like supervised visits," I snicker. I love her company, but it’s tiresome when someone tries to impersonate your shadow. I walk behind the counter, inspecting the coffee. The chai tea is low, but I’m not a fan of wasting anything, so I keep it on the warmer. Staring at the tea makes me think of Cara, it's her favorite.

"Janie, have you spoken to Cara? I didn’t tell her I lost my phone and the last thing I need is for her to chew me out.”

“It’s all taken care of. I told Mom, Jack and Cara. They know you’ll call them when it’s replaced.”

I exhale a long breath of relief. Cara’s fury wasn’t factored into my already stressful week. Now it’s time to figure out how to get Janie out of here. I hate to be selfish, but since she’s been occupying my space, I never wanted to be alone so bad. “Great thanks,” I say, gearing up for my escape. “Why don’t you head out? I can close by myself.”

“Nah, I’ll hang,” she answers, thoughtfully declining.

I’ll be damned! Time for a new angle. Deceiving Janie isn’t nearly as easy as I thought it might be. “What do you feel like doing tonight?”

“Maybe we can rent a movie or something?” she answers.